


Lessons Learned

by StarlightSkies



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cardassian Anatomy, Established Relationship, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Loquacious Coitus, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Wet & Messy, Xenoanthropological Studies With Julian and Garak, porn with minor plot, service topping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightSkies/pseuds/StarlightSkies
Summary: Julian and Garak love comparing xenoanthropological notes. Julian’s latest study, aptly enough, concerns his Cardassian friend and the merits of a good fuck. Post-3x21, “The Die Is Cast.” Written for the Deep Space Niners Summer 2020 Kinkswap.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 9
Kudos: 134
Collections: Deep Space Niners Kink Swap 2020





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DHW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/gifts).



> This is my stab at a fill for DHW who prompted: “How many orgasms can Cardassians have? Julian finds out. For science.” As usual, I got carried away, but 3x20 “Improbable Cause” slotted in really nicely when I remembered Garak had those few lines about having too much time on his hands and suggesting someone should study human eating habits. Julian’s studies, on the other hand, are a bit less nutritionally balanced, but ultimately just as fruitful. Enjoy!

“If you say one more word about my eating habits,” Julian says, jabbing the air emphatically with his fork, “I’m not coming to lunch next week.”

“Really, Doctor, must you be so melodramatic? I’m merely making an observation.” Garak dabs his mouth primly, napkin folded as crisply as his clothes are pressed.

“Yes, and it’s an observation you’ve made for the past three meals we’ve had together. If you’re going to study me, do it more quietly.”

“And what, may I ask, would be the point in that? I’m afraid you’ll never correct your bad habits if you insist on turning a blind eye to them,” Garak says, and the air of superiority with which he says it (while endearing) nearly makes Julian roll his eyes. “In fact,” he continues, “I’ve noticed all sorts of habits in humans which Cardassians would never allow.”

Julian opens his mouth to retort, but closes it again when he notices the far-off look in his friend’s eyes. Considering recent events have likely overlapped with Garak’s usual self-superiority concerning the merits of Cardassian upbringing, he finds he doesn’t have the heart to refute the statement.

It has been nearly a week since he returned from the Gamma Quadrant, a little worse for wear, but staunchly resistant to Julian’s attempts to ascertain any of what had occurred.

 _Tain is gone,_ was all Garak had said, gaze fixed firmly on the tattered remains of his former life as he sifted through the rubble of his shop. Julian had helped him clean up in between his medbay shifts, watching as Garak donned his usual easy demeanor, reassuring his customers he’d be open for business again soon. But in the darkness of his quarters, in the fleeting moments when the cracks in the practiced masks began to show through, Julian could see the pain: in the tension of his spine, the hardened lines of his face, the light-year distance in those familiar blue eyes.

“Well,” Julian says after a moment, “I think we still have quite a bit to teach each other.” His diplomacy earns him a small, indulgent smile, and he feels his stomach do a well-practiced somersault at the gesture.

“Quite,” Garak says as Julian drains his mug and stands, internal chronometer reminding him that he’s due back in the medbay shortly for his thirteen hundred appointment. He turns to leave, but something pulls him back; Julian hesitates, meeting Garak’s eyes, and finds with some relief that the warmth kindling in his chest is reflected there.

“I’ll see you tonight?” 

He nearly falters in asking. Even half a standard year into this relationship, built stone by passionate stone together on the foundation of their friendship, Julian still has difficulty deciphering his friend’s thoughts and wishes. He is hesitant to overstep whatever boundaries Garak had built around himself following the previous week’s emotional shock, unwilling to trade intimacy for the Cardassian’s privacy. 

To his further relief, however, Garak inclines his head.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, and gives a little wave. “Now run along, Doctor.”

To anyone else, the words would have been sufficient, but Julian knows that mere words are never enough with Elim Garak. He’s learned to read between the lines, to untangle the threads of thoughts and feelings and things left unsaid, and he knows that the subtle ache is still persistent in Garak’s tone. He’s still hurting, and deeply so.

The thought nags at Julian’s mind as he makes his way back to the medbay, all through his afternoon appointments and into the early evening as he’s scrolling through the latest edits to his recent article on viral evolution on Bajor. Every instinct he has tells him to help, but more often than not, helping Garak is a markedly roundabout journey, and one fraught with Julian being forced to sit on his proverbial helping hands. “Time heals all wounds” was not one of his particular favorite monikers, but it held a certain truth when calling into question Garak’s intense privacy and disdain for meddling. Not that that had stopped Julian before, but then, he supposes, he _had_ been dying that particular time.

No, perhaps what Garak needed was a healthy dose of normalcy. Yes, normalcy would do nicely.

And with that in mind, Julian sets about formulating a plan.

\---

Perhaps ‘plan’ had been a bit of a strong word, Julian realizes, and the condensation on the bottle of kanar he’s holding continues to drip along his hand, much like his rapidly melting courage. He’s equipped with alcohol, libido, and only the vaguest sense of how to help his friend, most of which involves them falling into bed and letting physicality do the rest.

He hopes it’s enough of a plan to last the evening, and rings the door chime.

The door hisses open, and an expectant figure greets him there. Garak eyes the intricately spun bottle in his hand as Julian proffers it to him; impulsively, he’d solicited it from Quark after his shift had ended, hoping (what had been advertised as) a nice vintage of kanar would be amenable to his lover. Garak was many things, and included among them was being a bit of an elitist when it came to the consumption of alcohol – the events surrounding the deterioration of his cranial implant aside. 

“Kanar? My dear, anyone else might begin to think your intentions for the evening are a bit less than chivalrous,” he says seriously, but the undercurrent of humor there brings a smile to Julian’s lips.

“Well, it’s probably a good thing you’re not ‘anyone else,’ then. I thought you might like it,” Julian replies, easing into the steady, routine banter.

Garak gives him an approving look and takes the bottle with a gracious nod. “I’m flattered you thought of me.” He strides across the room as the doors sweep shut behind Julian, setting the bottle expectantly on the ledge by the small table they shared during their evenings in. Julian follows, moving past Garak to the replicator.

“Tarkalean tea. Hot,” he says, but before he can reach for the mug that materializes, he feels Garak’s hand at his waist, a deceptively chaste kiss pressed to his cheek from behind.

Well. It appears he needn’t have worried after all.

“Foregoing dinner this evening, are we?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was precluding that possibility,” Garak murmurs against Julian’s ear. “But then, I’m not typically one to have my dessert first.”

“Well, don’t look at me. Aren’t _you_ supposed to be doing that study on _my_ eating habits?” Julian teases, and feels a familiar flare of desire spark within him when he turns and catches sight of the glint in Garak’s eyes. He’d been right: perhaps Garak needed something to keep him occupied, mere fleeting hints of normalcy amid the growing threat they all faced and his grief for the man he could never properly mourn.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how willing a participant you are,” Garak returns, and Julian has to repress a shiver as the words ghost across his skin.

Well, if there was one thing Julian Subatoi Bashir could do (with a bit of misplaced self-confidence), it was drive Elim Garak to distraction.

Pointedly, he extracts himself from Garak’s embrace and retrieves his nearly-forgotten mug of tea before returning the kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t miss the minute narrowing of the Cardassian’s eyes as he considers the action, but Julian has every intention of drawing out their evening as long as possible. It’s been too long since they were together like this, and he’s in no hurry to put a stop to it, just as he knows Garak derives ample pleasure from a full evening. As nebulous as the _whats_ and _hows_ of their relationship still were, Julian could confidently say that Garak relished indulgence of every sort, dinner notwithstanding.

“Willing enough,” Julian says, casting a knowing look at his lover before setting down his tea. “But really, dessert before dinner? I’m not about to encourage those sorts of habits.” He knows Garak will play along, that his reluctance is just a façade. The lengthier the chase, all the sweeter is the satisfaction that awaits them. And Julian _fully_ intends for Garak to enjoy himself.

“Spoken like a true medical professional,” Garak replies, mock disappointment lacing his melodramatic sigh. “I suppose I should defer to your expert opinion.”

“I’m glad you’re seeing sense. What shall we have?” Julian moves again toward the replicator, unable to stop his smile from widening as he feels Garak’s gaze boring into his back.

“I’m amenable to anything.”

“Anything” turns out to be stew – _sem’hal_ for Garak, and good, old-fashioned beef for Julian, who was admittedly still a bit unsure of himself when it came to Cardassian cooking. It could have been Yigrish cream pie, though, and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not with how Garak is watching him. His expression is polite enough, the very picture of innocent propriety as they debate the validity of Julian’s distaste for _The Life of a Statesman_ (which, in Julian’s opinion, exemplifies Garak’s unfailingly Cardassian literary tastes). But every time Julian meets his eyes, which snap with an untamed, brilliant fire, it’s all he can do not to throw down his cutlery and have him right then and there.

He’s brought this on himself, though, and Julian is determined in his patience. Good things to those who waited, as the saying went…or at least a satisfactory, well-fucked bliss, as the case may have been.

He’s about to suggest they open the kanar when Garak, who has just returned his plate to the replicator, decides that they’re more than through with the main course. _Or the appetizer,_ Julian supposes, but doesn’t have time to consider the metaphor before he is being pulled from his chair into a searing kiss.

“Wasn’t it you lecturing me just the other day on the merits of patience?” he asks, in the brief few seconds when Garak is not determinedly (albeit pleasurably) silencing him.

“There is a time, my dear, for patience–” Garak pauses to undo the zipper of Julian’s jumpsuit, before continuing, “–and a time when one really must learn not to pay heed to it.” Another kiss. Then another, and it is clear from the bruising strength behind it and the nipping at his lower lip that Garak’s patience has long since dried up.

Julian manages to divest himself of his uniform and turtleneck without tripping in his haste, and they lay forgotten as Garak urges him onto the comfortable corner bed. He rakes his gaze over Julian with ravenous intent, and stands to undo the hidden clasps at the back of his tunic. A few more moments of fumbling and they’re both bare, ensconced in each other once again.

He’s been looking forward to this for weeks now, ever since their last romp. Dalliance. Whatever label is appropriate to stick on the complex business that lies between them, Julian thinks. He can’t resist the urge to prod a bit more at the proverbial sleeping lion, though, and he knows precisely how Garak feels about his loquacious tendencies.

“I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Garak,” he says mildly. “After all the trouble you went to observing me through dinner, you’re not even going to record your findings?”

“I am, shall we say, a bit preoccupied at the moment.” And preoccupied he is, one hand skimming down the small of Julian’s back to rest on the curve of his ass.

“I shudder to think of what this might do to your data collection. How many other humans do you have the chance to study? How else will you learn our intricate social rituals? Answer all those burning questions you still have about my species?” Julian teases, breath hitching as the hand squeezes. Hard.

“I hardly think the matter is of any consequence right now. Or don’t you agree?” Garak asks lightly, surveying him with a raised brow ridge.

“Then perhaps _I_ ought to do a study,” Julian deadpans, but can’t help the grin that follows as he recalls Garak’s apparent exuberance for xenoanthropology from the previous week. “Since you seem to have given up your quest for knowledge about my lunchtime habits, I may as well contribute in your place.”

“Shall I guess the topic of your research?”

“Mm. Let’s say…Cardassian sexual behaviors. I’m sure I could spin it so that it’s medically relevant.”

“And what, might I ask, are you hoping to gain from such a study?” Garak allows him a small half-smile, and Julian feels a sudden surge of emotion well up in his chest. He leans in to kiss Garak deeply, trailing his fingers over the delicate ridges that line his jaw.

“I think,” he says when they’ve broken apart, “I have quite a personal stake in the matter.”

“Allowing personal interest to eclipse your professional goals? Surely you know better than that,” Garak says, but the moan that follows when Julian squeezes the sensitive slope of his shoulder ridge betrays his arousal. He quickly replaces his hand with his tongue and teeth, biting down on the cartilage and working at the soft scales below the ridge with his lips just how he knows Garak enjoys. He’s determined to do the vast majority of the legwork this evening, and Julian is almost sure that Garak will let him.

Ordinarily, Garak isn’t one to take a passive role in their sex life. Quite the contrary, in fact: Julian distinctly remembers sporting a myriad of bruises and lovely bites after their first time in bed together. He’d thanked whatever higher powers might have existed in the Universe that dermal regenerators had been invented – at least for the marks _above_ his uniform turtleneck. But occasionally, after a particularly trying day, Julian knows that Garak would like nothing better than to partake in a bit of self-centered pleasure, in spite of his protests to the contrary. 

“Mm, perhaps…my judgment was a bit hasty,” Garak says, arching into Julian’s touch as it ghosts over the barest outline of ribs and his solidly muscled abdomen, which even now proclaim his former fitness, padded by years of inaction and guilt. He lets out a soft breath when Julian caresses the ridges that line his pectorals, eyes slipping shut as he loses himself in sensation.

Julian loves him like this: selfish, indulgent, unabashed in his desire. For a man who’s denied himself so much for so long, Julian knows that Garak still has – and probably will always have – difficulty allowing himself to let go, to be exposed and stripped down to his most vulnerable parts.

He leans down to nip at Garak’s neck again, dragging steady hands down his abdomen and stopping just short of where he knows Garak wants him. His lover twists against him with a faint groan, but Julian clutches at Garak’s hips and digs his fingertips in _hard._ Enhanced strength or none, it’s laughable to think that he could overpower a full-grown Cardassian, particularly one so intimately acquainted with a (former) line of work such as Garak's. More often than not, Garak allows it, but leaves Julian in no doubt that he could turn the tables at a moment’s notice if he so desired.

The thought sends a thrill through him, just as it always does, and Julian feels arousal begin to settle in his half-hard prick. It tugs at the fringes of his conscious mind, growing more difficult to ignore when he kneels between his lover’s legs to trace a gentle thumb down one side of his genital slit. Garak is clearly already one step ahead: he’s wet and willing against Julian’s hand, the unmistakable, heady scent of his lubricant permeating the air. 

Julian is overwhelmed with the primal need to touch, to _taste_ him, but he glances to Garak for permission all the same as he eases his thighs a bit wider.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re waiting for,” Garak says, a bit testily. “Unless, that is, you’re intent on denying me further.”

“Just checking,” Julian mutters, feeling somewhat sheepish. “If I recall, the last time I tried, you–”

He is cut off by an insistent hand in his hair, gripping tightly, just on the right side of too painful, and the quiet, lustful noise that leaves him is involuntary.

 _So much for last time,_ Julian thinks, and drags his tongue across Garak’s apex without further hesitation. It had been memorable, at the very least, if unproductive.

The moan that meets his ears is barely audible, but well worth the anticipation. Encouraged, he delves into the wet heat, tongue tracing along the soft interior. One hand comes to rest on Garak’s thigh, stroking softly over the heated scales; the other occupies itself with rubbing slow circles against the swollen slit. Garak shivers, and a gush of viscous fluid meets Julian’s tongue. He’s anticipating it and pulls away slightly, but leaves his hand in place and runs his index finger along the seam, to Garak’s apparent pleasure.

His lover’s hand has slackened in his hair, but Julian does not relent: he mouths at the ridges of Garak’s _ajan,_ reinvigorated with every minute shift, every sharp inhalation and gasp that meets his ears. He licks as deeply into Garak as he can manage, feeling the slick walls clench and tighten when his _prUt_ begins to emerge from its internal sheath. Satisfied, Julian pauses to wrap his lips around the head when it is visible and is rewarded with a harsh cry, which cuts sweetly through the stillness of the starlit night. 

Julian yields briefly in his ministrations, allowing him a moment to adjust upon full eversion. Garak is slick with want, his cock twitching against the comparatively cooler air, and clearly in blissful agony when Julian bends to tongue his slit again. He knows the signs, recognizes the subtle tensing of Garak’s limbs and the desperate, panting staccato of his breathing too well to miss them. He’s suspended on the razor edge of climax, waiting for one last push which Julian is all too happy to provide.

“Elim,” Julian murmurs, and feels Garak’s hand tighten in his hair at the use of his given name. “Go on. Let go.”

Garak comes with a muffled groan, ejaculate thick and pearlescent against the gray of his stomach. Julian continues to lap at his _ajan_ through the aftershocks, tongue trailing through the wetness gathered there until Garak finally pulls him away.

He looks up, expecting to find one sleepily sated Cardassian. Instead, Garak is regarding him with an almost smug, cat-who-ate-the-canary look about him, still very unmistakably erect. 

He registers Julian’s surprised look with a small laugh. “Surprised?”

Julian frowns. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“There are still some things, my dear, which you happily do not know about me.” He releases Julian’s hair, trailing a gentle hand across his ear and down over his neck which prickles with an abrupt eruption of gooseflesh.

“I’d say more than ‘some,’” Julian grouses, but he and Garak both know his grumpiness is merely reflexive. Garak often joked that he’d lose the attentions of his human lover if he lost the advantage of enigma; Julian refuted this claim whenever it came up, but could not deny that part of his initial attraction to Garak had been in the layered, ever-changing mystery which surrounded him. It was as much a part of Garak as his neatly-kept clothes or his periodic tendency of knowing information not ordinarily befitting a plain, simple tailor.

“Would you consider it appropriate repayment if I offered to answer one question to further your studies of Cardassian behavior?” Garak asks slyly, but a sudden hiss of breath escapes him when Julian, smirking, begins laving at his slit again.

“ _Julian,_ ” he manages, a shivery moan escaping him despite, it seems, his better judgment. “That is hardly an answer.”

“I suppose there is one thing I find myself increasingly curious about concerning Cardassians,” Julian says, the words materializing in spurts between the slowing strokes of his tongue across Garak’s _ajan._ “How many orgasms _can_ you have?”

“That,” Garak replies breathily, eyes half-lidded in a pleasure-wrought torpor, “ _that,_ my dear, depends on which Cardassian you’re asking.”

“I should know better than to expect a straight answer out of you. Well, it ought to be someone we both know,” Julian hums, sucking at the juncture between _ajan_ and _prUt._ He glances up, and his self-satisfaction only waxes further with the look Garak shoots him. “I could always ask Gul Du—”

“Julian, if you expect to remain in my bed, you will refrain from finishing that sentence.”

Julian does refrain, and instead kisses the inside of his lover’s thigh with a small, conciliatory smile.

“I’m only joking. I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“Perish the thought,” Garak says, and there’s a fond exasperation somewhere in his tone. It doesn’t last long, though, a heady moan escaping him as Julian eases him open with two fingers. He strokes lightly against his walls, noting with a mixture of delight and arousal the gush of lubricant that meets his ministrations. Garak is still clearly sensitive, trembling minutely when Julian strokes a soothing hand down his side, but he remains everted.

Careful not to push him too far, Julian resumes fingering him gently, teasing at the swollen ridges that line his slit. He allows his thumb to caress the edge and feels Garak’s walls clench in response; the groan that meets his ears is an encouraging one, and his prick throbs at the sound. His fingers don’t stop their delicate exploration of Garak’s _ajan,_ not even when he adds a third and another rush of fluid coats his hand.

“You know,” Garak gasps, eyes fluttering closed as he rocks against Julian’s hand, “this is hardly how I expected this evening to go.”

Julian lifts a brow, trying his best to ignore his body’s insistent, nagging response to such a clear display of arousal. “Thought you’d seduce me into a repeat performance of last time, did you?”

Admittedly, it _had_ been good. Better than good, if anyone were to ask (not that they did). Even now, the memory of Garak filling him so exquisitely, solid weight pressing him into the mattress as one hand circled about Julian’s weeping erection in a magnificent and _thoroughly_ frustrating demonstration of Cardassian sensuality causes a shudder to overtake him.

“As usual, you show little concern in violating my – _ah,_ my every expectation,” Garak manages, even as Julian slides his fingers free to trace them along the inner lip of his _ajan._ As hard as Julian knows he tries to maintain a semblance of composure, even in such a prone and positively debauched state, Garak can’t completely suppress the way his hips cant forward, seeking the lost friction. 

Positive his body has fully recovered, Julian merely fixes his lover with a placid smile and bends to take the tip of Garak’s cock into his mouth, simultaneously allowing his index and middle fingers to resume their previous activities. The heady moan that meets his ears is well worth it, and one of Garak’s hands flies to his head, holding him firmly in place. Julian can taste the remnants of his previous orgasm, musky and bitter against his tongue as he swirls it about the ridges which line the underside. It’s not a particularly pleasant flavor by any means, but a bit of discomfort is _well_ worth the reactions the act consistently elicits from Garak.

“ _Julian,_ ” he groans, and there’s a request there, too.

“Yes,” Julian murmurs, pausing to lick one long stroke up the underside of his _prUt._ He nips at the head, teeth grazing softly over the ridges; he’d learned early on that Garak’s subtle masochistic streak extended even to fellatio. Well, either that or Cardassians weren’t quite as delicate as their human counterparts where pleasure was concerned, but it was difficult to come to a conclusion with a sample size of exactly one.

Julian continues to suck at the velvet-soft scales for a while longer, bringing his other hand to the base of Garak’s _prUt_ to tease at the few inches he’s not otherwise occupied with. Garak’s hand falls to the mattress to clutch at the sheets in white-knuckle pleasure. Julian chances a look upward, and feels a nearly painful spike of arousal lay waste to his senses: Garak is a vision like this, in the rare moments when he truly lets go and allows himself to shed the last vestiges of his control. He’s open and honest in his pleasure, eyes tightly shut, ordinarily tidy hair splayed across the pillows as he vocalizes his want to the candle-dimmed room. He needs this, just as Julian yearns to give it to him.

After a moment more of savoring the image before him, Julian sucks in a shallow breath and swallows him down completely. Garak lets out a strangled cry, trembling as Julian crooks the fingers inside him forward. The action floods his mouth with an unmistakable tang, lubricant from Garak’s cock sitting heavy on his tongue. He’s wet, _ajan_ pliant and yielding to Julian’s fingers as they fuck him gently, the surrounding ridges flushed deep gray with desire. 

_He’s beautiful. God, is he beautiful._

Garak tenses and cries out, his walls spasming around Julian’s digits where they continue to stroke him through his release. The biting taste of ejaculate coats his tongue, but Julian finds he’s in no state to care and swallows it hurriedly before he can think about it too long. Evidently he makes a face, though, as he releases Garak’s cock and sidles up next to him, wiping his damp hand on the bedspread as he goes. 

“I see you still haven’t developed a taste for more…exotic flavors,” Garak says, one eye cracked open to regard Julian fondly.

He rolls his eyes in lieu of a response, and settles in to kiss the Cardassian. Garak pushes him away after a moment with a snort, and rolls over to prop himself on one elbow.

“If I wanted to taste myself,” he says drily, “I’d have asked nicely.”

“Oh, ha ha. Since when do you ever ask – let alone nicely?” Julian pushes halfheartedly at his shoulder, but yelps in surprise as one clever hand darts down to grip his cock, still painfully erect and leaking against Garak’s thigh.

“I’m not entirely sure you’re in a position to be taking that tone with me.” Garak hums wordlessly as he palms his lover’s erection, his touch just light enough to deny Julian the friction that his body so desperately craves. “In fact, I don’t think you’re in a position to be doing much of anything at all.”

“You’re a cruel man, Elim,” Julian moans as Garak moves to straddle his thighs, but the Cardassian shushes him, one hand dragging down his stomach as he leans down to kiss his human companion. His tongue is hot and insistent against the curve of his lip, and Julian opens readily for him, a needy noise catching somewhere in his throat. The kiss is raw and messy, a testament to the primal need which courses through him and blots out any hope of rational thought. He’s too far gone, too overwhelmed with the urge to _feel_ Garak in every possible sense, and when Garak pulls away to bite at the sensitive skin between his jaw and neck, Julian bucks into his hand with a cry. 

He realizes with a start that Garak is still very much erect, his _prUt_ heavy and slick where it slides against the desperate motion of Julian’s hips. Garak eyes him with a knowing look.

“I can be incredibly…resilient when circumstances call for it,” he says, as if completely unconcerned with their present state. His tone would be rather more appropriate for an idle discussion over lunch, Julian thinks wryly, not for a man who’s presently fondling his lover’s balls. 

“I’m learning more and more about Cardassian refractory periods as the night goes on,” Julian returns breathlessly, and gives a sharp inhale when Garak resumes his attention to his aching cock. He’s lost in sensation for several long moments, unable to keep his eyes open for fear of being overwhelmed. Garak’s hand is cool around him as he strokes, a pinpoint of relief within the conflagration of his arousal. Julian feels a thumb swipe over the tip of him, no doubt smearing away the precome collected there, and he can’t help the moan that wells up in his throat. For a time, it feels as if the entire station has faded away. The only thing that remains is Garak: his hand, still teasing at the underside of Julian’s prick; his quiet breathing, indicative of his concentration; his mouth where it presses hotly against the trail of softly curled hair beneath his stomach. 

It is too much, _far_ too much.

“Elim,” he manages, a quiet warning in the strained syllables. “I can’t – you’ve got to….”

Garak releases him in a sudden motion, and Julian feels a flush heat his face when he practically whimpers at the loss of contact. It doesn’t last long, though. He dares to open his eyes after a moment, and finds the Cardassian regarding him with an uncharacteristically soft expression. He’s moved to position himself above Julian’s cock, thighs damp with lubricant from his dripping _ajan,_ stroking himself slowly with one hand. The sight of Garak so aroused by him – and after two orgasms, no less – is enough to leave Julian teetering on the brink.

“If you’re going to do it,” Julian gasps, “do it _now._ I can’t last. I can’t – _oh._ ”

Garak sinks onto him in one swift motion, letting out a quiet, vulnerable noise. Julian groans as the wet heat surrounds him, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. He knows well enough by now to allow Garak to set the pace, but God, it is _difficult._ The Cardassian’s chest heaves as he arches against Julian’s cock, the hue of his scales shifting mesmerizingly in the low light with each shuddering exhale. Julian tries to quash the swell of emotion that has risen inside his chest, but his attempt is futile. Instead, he reaches up to draw Garak in for a sound kiss, rolling his hips ever so slightly to brush against the base of his _prUt._

Garak breaks the kiss with a gasp, clenching tightly around him. He’s nearly shaking again, one hand braced against Julian’s chest, the other circling his cock where it stands, flushed deep gray and throbbing, leaving slick trails against his stomach.

“Let me,” Julian says softly, taking his length in hand. Garak grips his wrist with a bruising tightness but doesn’t stop him, and instead grinds down harder onto Julian’s hips, forcing a needy sound from them both. 

“Almost as if you’ve done this before,” Garak grits out, pleasurable intensity written into the taut lines of his face as he meets Julian’s slow thrusts. With each motion, his _prUt_ slides between Julian’s fingers, the ridges dragging across his skin, hot and slippery in his hand.

“A bit of practical experience…goes a long way,” Julian quips, but the words almost don’t make it out when Garak tightens around him again. “Elim…oh, _God._ ” The heat pooling in his groin has become too insistent to ignore; he feels his whole body alight with a telltale sensation and clutches at Garak’s thigh, nails digging into the soft flesh there.

 _Not yet. Not before Garak,_ he thinks, squeezing his prick, stroking insistently at the base where he knows Garak is most sensitive. He slips that same hand between them to where they are joined, the base of his palm still rubbing relentlessly against his _prUt_ even as he fingers the wet, engorged scales lining his slit. He wants Garak to come like this, unthinking and uncaring of propriety, utterly arresting in his wantonness.

“ _Julian._ ” Garak utters his name like a prayer, breathes it into the quiet air as he comes for the third time that night. Julian moans quietly, heat washing over his every nerve ending as he rides out his own orgasm, buried deep in his lover. They remain joined for a long while, time seeming to grind to a standstill as they both catch their breath and allow themselves to descend from the high of climax.

Eventually, Julian is the one who moves first, rolling them over so he can ease himself out of Garak, who is still panting sharply. He murmurs a small protest when Julian rises on unsteady legs to order a handful of warm towels from the replicator, but is apparently gratified enough upon his return to grace him with a sated smile. 

Julian takes his time wiping them both down, paying particular attention to the soft scales of Garak’s stomach. He is careful not to linger too long over his sensitized slit, where his _prUt_ has retreated into its sheath. Even the gentlest touch of the cloth to the Cardassian’s groin causes him to shudder, so he makes quick work of the rest, depositing the towels on the floor with an unceremonious _thump._

“All right?” Julian asks, when he’s satisfied that Garak won’t be able to complain of anything more than mild stickiness later.

“I should think the answer to that particular question would be obvious,” Garak murmurs lazily, stretching out an arm to drape across his lover’s form. “Or are you perhaps looking for a bit of an ego boost?”

“Remind me not to do anything nice for you again.”

When he shifts to meet Garak’s eyes, though, Julian is stunned by the warm gratitude he sees there. He needed this. They both did, if he’s being honest, and his heart aches with all the sweetness neither of them dares to utter aloud for fear that they’ll break this fragile thing they’ve built together. Julian lifts a hand to brush Garak’s hair back into place, tucking the silken strands behind his aural ridge before cupping his jaw with a gentle palm.

“You know, I think I’ve answered my own question,” he says quietly, grinning at Garak’s look of puzzlement. “Three.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Three orgasms. More or less.” Julian leans to kiss him again, reveling in the softness of Garak’s lips against his, bruised and kiss-swollen as they are.

“Ah. I assure you, my dear,” Garak says, allowing himself a faint smile in return, “If I’d thought you could keep up, it might have been more.” He looks happy in his satisfaction. Far happier than Julian has seen him in a long while, and it comes as a distinct relief, though he tries his best not to let it show.

Julian scoffs, but it’s more of a halfhearted, fond sort of noise. He draws Garak closer and marvels, as he often does, at the way the Cardassian curls against him, seeking the mammalian warmth he offers. For a man who, by all accounts, dispenses with sentiment as soon as it becomes too familiar, the gesture says so much in a language which Julian has not quite yet learned to interpret. It’s just one more item on the half-finished list that details what he knows and still has yet to learn about Elim Garak.

The thought is comforting, in a way, and Julian smiles.

“Then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to collect a bit more data.”

**Author's Note:**

> Speculative reproductive xenobiological terms lovingly borrowed from tinsnip!


End file.
